Belizna
by Dia Discordia
Summary: A story about a wandering boy in the snow. (Human!AU, oneshot)


_**I don't own Hetalia and it is owned and created by the mysterious Hidekaz Himaruya.**_

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Snow was mysterious to Ivan.

For as long as he had lived he watched it with anger and awe. The snowflakes it brought were stark and sleek as they swept through the skies and covered the forest in pureness. Their arrival brought a white wonderland to be explored and played with. It brought people joy and inspiration as they felt the cold powder that they spread through their gloves, and watch the beautiful twinkling crystals float through the air as the children dispersed it in glee. At the same time, it created beautiful chaos. The people cursed at it too. They cursed it as a beautiful death upon their earth, a beautiful death that killed slowly and painfully. It brought the cold with it! The earth had already given up before it came, with the nature of the woods shedding away its life into the comatose state, hoping to be resurrected when the time came. People were easily taken away if they did not prepare. Food wouldn't grow, and warmth was scarce. Those who were left without those two things often disappeared into this swirling snow, and often never returned, left to the snow's servants, Vorona and Volk.

Ivan appeared to be the next victim.

The poor boy was out gathering the firewood his father had cut earlier in the season, while trying to beat the first snow of winter. The end of autumn was well upon them. The golden leaves had floated down to the earth's surface and now the ground was mottled with dead brown. The songbirds were becoming silent, their songs fading out and finishing their concerts as most flew away to warmer places. The few birds that would brave the dark and the cold included Vorona, and prepared to prey on those who were unfortunate to be left out in the cold. Ivan had seen a hare the day before, and already, it was beginning to put on a winter coat, and it made him wonder if the snow had already arrived somewhere in the distant world.

In their small cottage in the woods, where he and his family lived in solitude, his family were wrapping up preparations for this time. They were all frantic. His father had gone hunting for a deer and tried to nab the last easy fish of the year. He was now at home fixing the skis and the knives, preparing for a winter's hunt. His mother and his sisters, the younger Natalya and older Irina were making warm clothes and hopefully cooking a stew for supper.

Ivan's trip included making several trips back and forth through the woods and back to his home. His father had cut down trees farther away than usual, and the area was not as familiar to the boy. He relied on his footprints to mark his path on each journey.

Finally, Ivan was able to gather the final bundle, but he was sore and sleepy. In out of the effort of his chore, he was not thinking as clearly as he should be while traversing through the woods, and so in drowsiness decided a short nap would be sufficient. He lay the firewood upon the roots of a tree, scaled up its cold and coarse trunk to a strong branch, and dozed off, as if he fell asleep upon a chair.

He dozed off too long.

When Ivan awoke, the snow was coming down softly but quickly and each flake burned like coals against his face. Each pinprick of ice stung like bees' venom and it pained Ivan each time one of the thousands of flakes in the sky made impact.

One snowflake was bearable and had little power, but add millions and they had the strength of thousands of soldiers.

The gibbous moon only shone with luck through a clearing in the cloak of the sky. Its silver light bathed the wood in twinkling beauty as it hit the millions of crystals, and cast ominous long shadows of the bare birches. They were scary, taking on the appearances of strangers that watched Ivan's every move. Vorona and Volk both announced themselves through the trees with piercing calls. They were coming, and they weren't alone. They had their packs and their families as accompaniment and comfort.

It seemed Ivan was the only creature in the wood who had no one to turn to. He began to panic.

The small boy clutched the scarf around his neck. Big sister Irina had made it for him, and he loved it very much, but now he found himself scoffing at the color. The snow white she created for him now surrounded him in every direction. He pulled it around tighter in rage.

Ivan leapt down from the tree branch, and dislodged the snow that had settled upon it. He plummeted down, with his scarf whipping behind him. He landed on the back of his feet, and fell back to his bottom. He slowly rose back up, in slight pain from the rebound.

His sleep had left him disoriented, and the snow made everything look the same. The snow had covered everything, and now there was no trail of footprints to follow back home. He perhaps, could dig for them, but the problem with that was he could be dead by the time he found them. Ivan turned back for the tree he had slept in, hoping that he could climb it and spot the smoke of a nearby fire. As soon as he made contact with the dark-marked white trunk, his mitten could not gain traction. The wood had frosted over and it had become too slippery to climb.

Ivan was desperate and finally just ran toward the moon, whom was finally covering itself for bedtime in its cloud blanket. The whistling wind only made things worse as it brushed his platinum hair angrily, berating and mocking his misfortune. He called out into it, hoping the wind would take pity on him and his message would be carried and delivered. There was no pity and there was no acknowledgment.

The boy kept running has the charcoal clouds were now beginning to dim the moon, the light now frothing like milk around the edge of the fluff. The cloud just kept on sailing like a boat, faster and faster without interruption.

Ivan watched as his world became pitch black, and Volk howled out to him somewhere in the dark distance.

Ivan paused in his footsteps as the howl died away and the only sound that remained was the complaining of the wind. He realized that time was running out. He hugged himself in effort to save some warmth.

Finally he took a step, then another, slower and slower as fear began to instill itself in him. He realized he'd forgotten the last logs at the cursed tree. He didn't care anymore. Then he did, and he cursed himself for not thinking to look for them among the snow and try to start a fire with them. How dumb of him. He wouldn't be cold if he had.

 _Ne ponimayu….do svidaniya._

He began to see things and think things he had never thought before. The cold was hurting him. What was good? What was evil? What was happening? Who was he? No! He knew. What was he saying? Something was changing and he didn't like it. So he hummed a tune in comfort.

The storm raged on, and the cold kept getting fiercer and fiercer. He couldn't feel his toes and his fingers and each step he took emitted a strange feeling. Thick tears ran down his face in agony, but as warm and as salty as the first felt, they soon felt like ice as well. He pushed through the thick layers as the wind shifted and blew angrily in his face, and he found it difficult to maintain the right footing and the right posture to pierce the air. Then suddenly, his stepping failed him, and he tripped into the powder.

 _Do svidaniya._

He lay flat upon the snow with his bright red right cheek pressed upon it. It was so dark he could no longer tell if his eyes were open or not. He hoped they were.

Ivan thought of how he wanted to be home with his family. He wanted to be with his strong father and his kind mother sharing stories and laughing together. He wanted to see little Natalya and the cute and flustered face she wore when he embarrassed her. He wanted to see Irina's big smile, and even hear her get all critical and motherly. He missed the sharing of stories and songs after every dinner, and laughing of he and his siblings dancing in front of the chimney fire. He missed their warmth and safety, and he began to wonder if he could ever see them again. He wondered if snow would be the last thing he'd ever see, and began to be afraid that he'd never see the sun again.

For a moment, he was disconnected. He was left in an eerie silence. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach and changed his cheek.

 _Ne ponimayu….do svidaniya._

Suddenly, he thought he saw a dash of color through the trees, like a tiny flower of spring. It was small like a star, but it was scarlet and glowing and he felt the warmth from afar. Was it a candle lit to lead him back home?

Ivan willed himself to use his hands and push himself back upon his feet, the determination returning to him. Vorona called to him as he struggled. He didn't call back.

 _Proshchayte._

Ivan tried to run as fast as he could, wobbling and twisting with his weak and tired and cold feet toward the scarlet light in the distance. It kept growing brighter with hope like the bloom of spring.

 _Proshchayte._

He saw it more clearly now even as the fog of breath clouded his vision. His flower was a candle. It looked like it was one of Ivan's mother's candles she left for his father when he went fishing and hunting, its wax melting down like raindrops hitting the surface of leaves, hitting the windowsill and fixating fast. His home was there! His mind got clearer and clearer as the light led the way. His steps became stronger, and the coldness spread away. Just the thought of safety made him warm inside.

All of the sudden, he didn't curse the snow anymore. He was seeing it differently now, with crystalline spirals and shining diamonds, a land of pureness and hope. Swirling, twirling, spinning, dancing.

 _Proshchayte._

He stopped and saw the log house. The bright candle now shone yellow through a window. Safety and shelter was finally his. He could see that there was a fire going inside, and he heard faint wooden footsteps pacing like a lynx.

As Ivan made his way to the door, he looked at the falling snow, shadows of dots in the window's light. How strange. He had survived, and the winter had mercy on him after all. Or did it just fail in taking his life? Whatever the reason, he still found himself thinking about the snow in the same way he did before: anger and awe.

Ivan knocked on the door, and sighed in peace and relief.

Snow was mysterious. But then again, so was his fate.

Volk and Vorona finally returned his farewell message, and somewhere in the distance, Ivan heard the disturbance of snow and the flapping of wings. They left, knowing he would be fine.

The door swung open.

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 _ **Author's Notes**_

 _Belizna: whiteness_

 _Vorona: crow_

 _Volk: wolf_

 _Do svidaniya: goodbye_

 _Ne ponimayu: I don't understand_

 _Proshchayte: farewell_

 _ **This is an updated version of the short story I had to write for English, rewritten into the Hetalia form I imagined it in. The Russian words were also added. I'm actually self-teaching myself Russian, so I would've written the words in the Cyrillic form, but for simplicity's sake I've kept the words romanized(?).**_

 _ **I used the name Irina for Ukraine.**_

 _ **This is my first work on this site, written when I should've been doing homework and it is an interpretation on the Hetalia character song "Winter" using the human characters. Can you find the lyrics? There's actually a lot of strange feelings and meanings I've put in here, but if they translate over to you will be interesting.**_

 _ **Edit #1: Revised and added 500+ to the word count, updated/rewrote notes**_


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